


Trust Me

by ilokheimsins



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blindfolds, M/M, Not actually super explicit porn, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, gun!kink porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1271161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilokheimsins/pseuds/ilokheimsins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the kitchen counter, there’s a gun with a single bullet in the chamber.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Me

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the gifset of Hannibal feeding Will the ear. I thought the cylinder shape was a gun and boom, ficlet was born.
> 
> Also, I do not purport to be an expert on BDSM and this is definitely a kink that should be thoroughly talked about between partners. Hannigram is a relationship I definitely believe is a little bit twisted, but if this is a kink of yours, make sure that you follow the rules of safe, sane, and consensual and you talk it over with your partner(s) first!

            There’s a gun on the kitchen counter.

            It’s old, the metal dark with age and the wood worn smooth.  The designs etched into it have started to fade and the hammer likely once bore an engraving of a beautiful woman, but time has worn her away.  The notch at the end of the barrel has been done away with, the nub sanded down flat against the barrel.

            Colt .45, Will’s mind supplies helpfully, more than a hundred years old.

***

            He doesn’t ask and Hannibal doesn’t explain.

***

            “Do you trust me?”

            Hannibal’s voice is smoke in his ears and Will shudders, his eyes rolling back.  He presses a hand against the underside of Will’s jaw, a silent command for Will to bare his neck.  Will swallows convulsively and follows Hannibal’s hand as it pushes.  He closes his eyes and waits.  He hears the rasp of Hannibal’s pleased laugh and then feels the roughness of his lips.

            “My sweet Will,” He whispers, “Such a beautiful, trusting boy.”

            Will gasps when Hannibal’s mouth pulls back, only to be replaced with his thumb, pressing firmly.  Will parts his lips, takes Hannibal’s thumb gently between his teeth and sucks at it.  He pants when Hannibal presses down on his tongue, whines when Hannibal presses a finger against the roof of his mouth.

            “Do you trust me, Will?”

            Hannibal withdraws his fingers and Will whimpers, “Please, yes, I do.  Please.”

            The silk of Hannibal’s tie comes down over Will’s closed eyes and Will can feel it tighten as Hannibal ties off the knot.  His shoes click away, measured steps against the polished wood floor.  Will counts them off.

            Kitchen counter, his brain whispers.

            The gun, his brain whispers.

            Hannibal is back before his mind can convince him that everything is a bad idea and he should open his eyes.  Cool metal touches his lips and he parts them automatically.  Will lets the barrel slide over his tongue, moans when it withdraws.

            Somewhere above him, Hannibal chuckles and wraps a hand around his jaw.  He rubs his thumb in soothing circles on the underside of Will’s jaw, pushing into the soft skin.  Hannibal takes another step forward and settles the back of Will’s head on his stomach.  There’s a telltale click.

            Loaded, his brain says distantly.  He should be panicking.  Should be, but isn’t.

            “Do you trust me?”

            Hannibal’s voice is rough and sex and silk and Will garbles out an affirmative as best he can with the barrel of the gun pressed against his tongue.  He can taste the metal and the grooves of the stylizations push against his tongue in the best way as Hannibal starts to feed him more of the barrel.  Hannibal pauses it at the entrance to his throat.

            Will waits, because he knows better than to ask Hannibal.  He waits and the ticking of the clock comes into sharp focus, each second that Hannibal stays still acutely echoing in his head.  His mind is black, his world narrowed in on the feel of the gun in his mouth and the heat of Hannibal against his head and the soothing rub of his thumb.

            Hannibal pulls the gun out all the way and Will rises up to chase it.  Chokes out a sound of disappointment when Hannibal’s firm grip stops him.  Hannibal releases him again and steps away.  Will breathes heavily through his nose as he counts the steps.  He can feel the heat of a blush on his face and the sweat running down his collarbones.

            “Come here Will,” Hannibal’s command is easy and firm.  Will stands shakily, taking a moment to remember how his legs work.

            “Follow my voice.”

            Will does.  He takes small, shuffling steps towards Hannibal’s voice.  Hannibal keeps up a litany of words, each sentence filthier than the last until Will’s knees bump up against Hannibal’s.  There are hands on his thighs now and they guide him until Will shuffles himself onto the sofa and into Hannibal’s lap.

            A hand comes up and soothes its way over his face and stops at his cheek.  Will turns into it, breathing in the scent of aftershave and something purely Hannibal, dark and rich.  All the tension flows out of his body and he sags forward, nuzzling into Hannibal’s palm.  A moment later, Hannibal’s other hand moves up and removes the blindfold.  His hands stay there, cupping Will’s face.

            “My Will,” Hannibal says.  The dark possessive tone sends a shudder running down Will’s spine and he barely resists the urge to grind his erection down on Hannibal’s thigh.

            “Open your eyes.”

            Will complies and looks straight at Hannibal, looks at the perfectly put together face.  There’s nothing out of place, nothing to say that Hannibal had just been watching Will fellate a gun.

            “What do you want?”

***

            Will whimpers around the gun in his mouth as it presses farther down his throat until the guard hits his lip.  He tries to slide farther onto Hannibal’s cock and tears leak from the corners of his eyes when the hard grip Hannibal has on his hip squeezes in warning.

            “Not until I say so.”

            I’ll beg, Will’s mind cries out.  But what comes out is a desperate whine.

            “My dear sweet Will,” Hannibal says softly, predatorily, “You wouldn’t think of disobeying, would you?”

            Will shakes his head slightly, noses at the knuckles pressed against his cheek.

            “Show me, then.  What should I reward you for?”

            Hannibal pulls the gun out until only the tip of the barrel is pillowed on Will’s bottom lip and waits.  Will sinks forward, sliding his tongue down the barrel obscenely before mouthing at the guard and the fingers grasping the gun.  He looks up at Hannibal, who looks completely unaffected, before sliding back up and taking the barrel back into his mouth.

            Will pushes all the way down, groans when he feels the barrel sliding down his throat.  He pulls back when he feels Hannibal’s fingers and the cool line of the guard.  Slides down again and this times lets his tongue run over Hannibal’s fingers before pulling back.

            The ache builds in his stomach and spit drips down his chin, mixing with the frantic tears that track their way down his cheeks.  The heat of Hannibal in him only adds to the ache.

            Harder, his mind begs, hold me down, fuck me, please, fasterhardermoreplease.

            Hannibal pulls the gun back and Will chases it, whining as it leaves his mouth.  A low chuckles escapes Hannibal as he leans forward to kiss Will.  He draws the gun over Will’s nipple, presses the open end of the barrel right over it, hard enough that Will can feel it indenting his skin.

            “My dear sweet Will,” Hannibal says and the only indication that he’s affected is the slight pickup in the pace of his breathing.

            “You trust me far too much.”

            He bites down and thrusts up, shoving Will down hard at the same time.  Will brings both his hands up and clutches at Hannibal’s shoulders, watches through hazy eyes as his grip wrinkles the perfect line of the cloth.  It takes another thrust before Will can get his feet under and lift himself and it’s suddenly that much better.  It’s harder with the force of Hannibal’s thighs pushing up and the weight of Will pushing down and Will whimpers.  It’s harder, faster, better, everything.

            “Do you want the gun?”  Hannibal is panting now and Will nods, shivers as the cooling metal graces his lips again.  He parts his lips and whimpers when the barrel presses all the way in and it’s almost too hard, too fast but it’s just on the good side of almost and Will lets Hannibal set the pace, lets him pull it out and plunge it back in.

            Will can feel the heat coil tighter and tighter in his stomach until he throws his head back, the gun popping out of his mouth, and comes so hard he blacks out.

***

            When he comes to, he’s on the oversized bed Hannibal insisted on getting.  He feels clean and he feels like his limbs have stopped obeying him.  The warm glow of the bedside lamp is on his left and Will turns toward it.  Hannibal sits in the light, polishing the gun with precise, efficient strokes.  He sets the gun down and runs a hand through Will’s curls.  Presses a kiss to Will’s temple and then turns off the light.

***

            The gun sits on the kitchen counter.

            Will doesn’t ask.  He doesn’t have to.

            Hannibal simply knows.


End file.
